The Balance of Power
by lucelafonde
Summary: Basically an incest version of the Hounds episode. Established relationship - meant as a continuation of The Maths is Done, but can be read as a standalone without problems. Holmescest you have been warned!


"You should quit that, you know," Mycroft said as he lazily stretched out on the bed. He watched his brother intently as he was looking out the window, taking a deep draw on the cigarette.

Sherlock chuckled lightly and stayed with his back to the man on the bed as he answered.

"And you should quit eating your own body weight in cupcakes. Alas," he sighed, "we are both men of habit, slaves to our destructive desires."

"You know perfectly well that I am on a diet, brother," Mycroft said with a bitter undertone, insinuating just how delighted he was by that fact.

"I have noticed," Sherlock nodded and finally turned around, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray his brother had situated at the window in his typically accurate foresight.

"Are you implying that I have greater control over my body than you do?" Mycroft let an evil smirk show. "Surely you can give up on your smoking if I can go on without my cake."

Sherlock took a deep breath before he took a step towards his brother who had finally bothered to sit up on the bed. He knew Mycroft was playing him. He had spent all his life with this man after all. But that was just the thing – he knew how his brother's games worked because that's what they always did: they WORKED. Mycroft was well aware that Sherlock could not turn down a challenge once uttered, no matter his knowledge about being tricked into doing something he wouldn't normally consider.  
Good thing they weren't normal then.

"Alright," Sherlock muttered as he slowly lowered himself on Mycroft's lap. He started lazily biting and licking the other's earlobe as he continued whispering over the moans he was provoking. "You got me. I will prove to you that my control is greater than yours."

"You are suggesting a bet," that wasn't a question. Mycroft knew his brother well enough to see where this was going.

"The challenge was yours – I am merely... extending it," he explained as he started to let his hands gently wander down the – despite Mycroft's claims concerning his diet – soft body underneath him.

"What are you proposing then?" his brother asked apparently distracted by Sherlock's attempts at keeping his mind off the matters at hand, but the younger one wouldn't let himself be fooled – he knew perfectly well Mycroft was always paying attention, no matter how much the situation was hinting at the opposite.

"A fair trade," Sherlock shrugged and forced his brother to lie down on the mattress as he was hovering over him with a smirk. "If I manage to stay off the cigarettes longer than you can live without giving in to your sweet tooth, you are mine to command for an entire day. Everything I wish for, everything I ask you to do – you will obey."

Mycroft considered this offer for a second. A dangerous game, he knew. He was well aware of his brother's stubbornness and had a feeling the devil looming over him would win this bet, there could be no question about that. No, he merely had to decide whether whatever humiliation Sherlock would come up with would be worth the outcome. This was the balance of power he had to maintain with his brother at all times.

"I assume the same conditions apply to my winning?" he asked, knowing he had already lost. He could see in the other's eyes that he knew it too.

"Of course," he simply said and leaned back a bit to throw Mycroft a challenging gaze.

"Very well then," the older one sighed and put his hand into Sherlock's unruly curls as he pulled him down towards him once again. He stopped any attempts of his little brother uttering anything else by locking their lips and successfully distracting him by any means at his disposal before he had to leave for work.

* * *

Mycroft could pinpoint the exact second Sherlock had stolen his ID. He had let himself get careless when he hit the shower that morning, leaving all of his possessions in the open, plain to see for anyone, especially a man like Sherlock.

He sighed. If he hadn't let himself get distracted by his brother's early morning's advances, he wouldn't have been in such a rush. Either way, the damage was already done. He took a frustrated bite of his cake as he typed the message to his brother.

He was worried. Sherlock knew he was. Mycroft was certain that this was the reason he had broken into Baskerville in the first place. His brother was perfectly aware of Mycroft's reaction whenever he got himself into potentially dangerous situations. At least a part of the detective had known getting the older one to worry about him would be the easiest way to win their bet, Mycroft was certain of it.

As expected, the answering message didn't contain any information as to his brother's intentions. Instead it read:

Enjoy your cake, Mycroft.

SH

He sighed even as he ordered another one.

* * *

"I got a theory, but I need to get back to Baskerville to test it," Sherlock said as he was making his way to the car.

"Wow. Can't pull off the ID trick again," John reminded him as he followed.

"Might not have to," his flatmate answered cryptically and pulled out his phone.

"Hello, brother dear! How ARE you?"

Mycroft cringed at the fake cheerfulness in his voice. He knew EXACTLY what this call was about.

"I can't complain, thanks for asking," he answered in a deliberate bored tone.

"That's good to hear, considering what day it is," Sherlock let his smug smile be heard through the phone.

"What do you want?" Mycroft sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose exasperatedly.

"Well, since you're ASKING..."

"Yes, yes, I know. You won," the older of the Holmes brothers interrupted. "You get this one day, Sherlock. Make it count."

"It really is a shame that I will have to waste an opportunity like this for something as trivial as that, but what can I do... I just regret not being able to make it home tonight," now Mycroft could DEFINITELY hear the devious smile in his brother's voice.

"Careful, brother," Mycroft hissed. "I am certain your loyal dog is following you around as always. You wouldn't want him to notice... something."

"Is that what you are calling him now?" Sherlock frowned as he threw a quick assessing glance to his friend standing beside him. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, BROTHER."

"I can assure you..."

"Save it. You know there is no need to worry about... anything. I will show you exactly why that is once I'm home again. In the meantime, you can help me out with something..."

* * *

Mycroft knew that the alarm hadn't been set off by a burglar, and yet he came home anyway. Guilt uttered itself in the weirdest actions after all. He never should have let Moriarty go. He hadn't had a choice, of course. The criminal wasn't alone and keeping him in custody would only have prompted his minions to do something unpleasant, he was sure of it. And yet...

"You're back early," he sighed as he made his way into his study to pour himself a drink. The shadow followed closely behind him and locked the door.

"I wish I could say the same about you," Sherlock answered as he lazily dropped down on the couch.

"Work. You know how it is," Mycroft smiled tightly. "Or perhaps not."

"Funny, brother. I do have a job, as you well know," he said as he stretched with a yawn and propped his head on his left arm as he laid down on his back.

"I am aware. What else would you need my ID for, after all?" He leaned back against the desk and observed his brother closely for a second. No visible injuries. Good. Yet there was something... off. He just couldn't pinpoint exactly what at the moment.

"You worry too much," Sherlock frowned. Mycroft chuckled. Of course he had noticed the look, no matter how fleeting.

"Ah, brother..." he smiled fondly and slowly approached the couch, setting his drink down on the table. "The day I stop worrying to death about you is the day you actually made me worry to death about you."

He carefully sat down on the edge and put a strand of hair behind Sherlock's ear with his left hand. The other he used to trace those high cheekbones in deliberate motions. The man underneath him sighed and closed his eyes for a second before putting his own hand on top of Mycroft's, stopping the movement on his skin.

"Don't say that," he murmured, looking at a point just above Mycroft's shoulder.

"And what would you rather have me do?" his older brother asked, fixing his eyes on the man on the couch, forcing him to return the stare. "Watch you finally succeeding in getting yourself killed and go on without you?"

"That seems to be the logical solution," Sherlock mumbled, deliberately not shifting his gaze from the man looming over him.

"Ha!" Mycroft laughed bitterly and with a motion way too fast for a man of his stature, positioned himself above his brother before he had the chance to move away, effectively trapping him between his thighs.  
"I think not," he said coldly and started licking Sherlock's ear in slow circles. "What makes you think I am willing to give you the satisfaction of leaving me behind?" He bit down, hard. "No, Sherlock. I am the older one. The honour of going first is mine."

"You don't... get to decide that, Mycroft," he frowned, desperately trying not to let his brother win this discussion, even as he felt the fight in him crumble away under the uncharacteristically rough touches. Despite his appearance, Mycroft usually was a very tame lover. He must be really angry, Sherlock mused.

"Don't I?" he chuckled and ripped open Sherlock's shirt in one swift motion.

"That was my favourite," the younger one argued weakly as the other's fingers started trailing down his muscled chest.

"As it was mine," Mycroft nodded and leaned down to lick over Sherlock's nipples. He nibbled on one of them for a second before he continued. "I will get you another one." He flung the remains of the purple shirt behind the couch.

"And what am I... supposed to do in the meantime?" he asked breathlessly as his brother's hand trailed further down, now reaching the waistband of his pants. "John saw me leave with this one. He'll ask questions if you continue to ruin my clothes and I have to borrow yours. They don't even fit!"

"You are complaining an awful lot for someone who failed to bring back a single one of those un-fitting shirts, which now – I believe – find great purpose in serving as your nightwear," Mycroft chuckled and finally forced his brother out of his pants, making them join the shirt on the floor.

"Smug bastard," Sherlock mumbled and opened Mycroft's shirt with deliberate care – he was planning on going home with it after all. "You wouldn't even know about that if your blatant voyeurism hadn't prompted you to install a camera in my bedroom."

"That is for your safety, as you well know," Mycroft answered lightly, slipping out of his now open shirt.

"If by safety you mean my virtue, yes," Sherlock nodded and leaned up to bite down on Mycroft's throat.

"Sherlock!" followed the scolding outcry. "You know you can't do that! People will see and ask questions!"

"Let them ask," the younger one shrugged and offered an evil smile. "I for one would love to hear you explain yourself. You could fabricate a story about an overpriced government hooker. No one believes you are celibate anyway. What ARE you telling people, now that I think about it?"

"I occupy a major position in the British government, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "Do you really think people have the guts to ask me ANYTHING? Besides," he leaned down again and locked their lips for a brief moment, "no one will ask questions when I'm taking you out for dinner. I am merely being a good brother. People know how occupied I am with keeping you from harming yourself. It is perfectly logical for me to give up on a personal life with you and my job taking up all my time."

Sherlock snorted at that. Good brother, my ass, he thought.

"Mycroft," he said as he cupped his face in both his hands and forced him to look at him. "You are good at many things, but I don't think being a brother quite makes the list."

"You are incredibly talkative tonight, Sherlock," he noticed as he put his hands above his brother's. "I knew something was wrong the second you walked in. What happened?"

Sherlock quickly studied his brother. He had expected him to find out, of course, but this was sudden. It was no use trying to deny it. Mycroft would call him out on it in a heartbeat.

His hesitation was enough to make his brother worry. He sighed and rolled to his side, dragging Sherlock with him to pull him comfortably over his chest where he started stroking his hair in a soothing manner.

"I knew it was a bad idea for you to go there. Tell me what happened, Sherlock," he whispered as he was kissing his way along his jaw.

"It was..." Sherlock stopped. He was about to say 'nothing', but he knew Mycroft would discover the lie instantly. He sighed as he let himself fully relax on top of his brother, tracing his arm and shoulder with a finger absent-mindedly. "I had an... emotion," he eventually revealed, not looking at Mycroft.

"You have emotions all the time, Sherlock. I assume this one was different?" his brother stated patiently, never stopping his movements in the curly hair.

"It was... fear," he admitted reluctantly.

"Who knows? Might do you some good in the end," Mycroft smiled affectionately. "Perhaps this will keep you alive one day."

"It was more than that," Sherlock frowned. "I... for a moment I wasn't sure whether I could trust myself. My senses were... They are all I have. Without them..."

"Sssh..." Mycroft rubbed his back in soothing circles. He hadn't even noticed he was shaking. "Even without your senses – without ANYTHING, really – there is one thing you will always have, Sherlock."

"Oh?" he smiled softly. "And what would that be? Pray tell."

"Me," he simply said and lifted up his brother's chin with the light movement of a finger. He covered his lips with his own and quelled the impulse to lock his little brother up in this house so no one could ever hurt him again.

Perhaps Sherlock had been right. He wasn't a good brother.

But he was a great one, and for the moment, that would have to suffice.


End file.
